


Little Light

by Polomonkey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Rape Culture, Rape Recovery, Self-Acceptance, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/pseuds/Polomonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The little bump carries on growing regardless. It has no idea and Gwaine envies it that. He’d like to be somewhere dark and safe right now. He’d like to be carried by someone else."</p><p>Gwaine gets raped and watches his world fall apart around him. Percy tries to help him cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Light

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for this prompt: 'The One where Gwaine is a known slut, 'Any' is a beloved Golden boy (in my head it's Arthur, but Any will do) and Percival is a shy jock who loves Gwaine from afar. Until Gwaine gets date-raped by Any, gets pregnant and Percy is the only one who believes/supports him.'
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful Mpreg mods who were very patient with me on this one! Also to the lovely 5leggedcricket for the speedy and diligent beta job. Fills my 'difficult/unexpected pregnancy' square on trope bingo.
> 
> This is a story that deals with rape culture and serious issues that some may find triggering, but there is happiness in there too. I really hope you enjoy it.

**September**

 

Gwaine likes to flirt. He likes to flirt with Merlin, to see him laugh and shake his head. He likes to flirt with Elyan, to see him roll his eyes and feign exasperation. He likes to flirt with Percy, to watch him blush and stammer and duck his head.

But most of all he likes to flirt with Arthur. Because Arthur flirts back.

Now Gwaine’s the first to admit that he has a bit of a reputation for getting around. But when your reputation is completely true, what can you do other than throw your hands up and own it? He likes sex and he’s good at sex and he’ll basically have sex with whoever’s willing. If that makes him a slut then, well… there are worse things he could be.

That in mind, Gwaine isn’t shy about going after what he wants. And what he wants, is Arthur. Pretty, shiny haired Arthur, with his wide blue eyes and his big broad shoulders and that funny little crooked smile he gives Gwaine when they pass in the hallway. And he’s pretty sure his lust is not one-sided. Recently it’s been Arthur who’s sought him out, Arthur who’s moved to sit with him in class, Arthur whose arm has habitually been slung around his shoulder, warm and solid.

Gwaine’s even tested the waters by growing bolder – making suggestive comments around Arthur, holding eye contact just a little too long, brushing up against him in the corridors. And on Thursday after football practice he basically propositioned Arthur in front of the whole team, just to see if Arthur would back down in front of the others.

“I’m away for a shower. You coming, Arthur?”

All the boys whooped, well used to Gwaine’s shenanigans by now.

“I’m straight!” Arthur protested, but he was laughing.

“So’s spaghetti till you get it hot,” he said shamelessly, and everyone groaned.

And then Arthur had come right over and given Gwaine a playful smack and said, low enough for only Gwaine to hear:

“I might take you up on that one day.”

So, yeah. Gwaine’s pretty sure. And it just so happens that Elyan’s throwing a party on Friday night, where there will be plenty of booze and absolutely no parental supervision. Opportunities don’t really come more gift-wrapped than this.

Arthur doesn’t arrive till late on Friday. Gwaine’s had time to get decently drunk, but not completely trashed. Unlike Merlin, who’s practically clinging onto the wall, bless him, lightweight that he is. Elyan and Gwaine are all but propping him up as they chat in the corner. Gwaine can’t stop scanning the room for Arthur, but he’s slightly distracted when his eyes alight on Percy. The big guy is standing next to the drinks table, looking faintly depressed. Not that Percy’s ever exactly expressive but…

“What’s with the sad puppy?” he wonders aloud.

“You really don’t know?” Merlin slurs, and Elyan gives him a reproving look, taking the last drink Merlin had managed to hoard from his hands.

“Know what?”

Elyan’s stern looks are clearly bouncing off Merlin’s head unheeded.

“He fancies you!”

Elyan claps his hand over Merlin’s mouth, but Gwaine only laughs.

“Who doesn’t?”

Then the words catch up to him.

“Wait, really?”

It’s pretty confusing because Gwaine’s fairly certain he has an open invitation going with most of his friends that they can hop aboard this train anytime. In fact he’s pretty sure he propositioned Percy at Cenred’s birthday only two months ago. Why didn’t he say yes then?

He voices this, and Elyan shakes his head.

“He doesn’t just want a one-night stand, Gwaine. He really likes you. That’s why he’s moping. Because he knows you like Arthur, and he’s jealous.”

For a moment Gwaine is flattered. And definitely interested, Percy’s a good looking guy, but… but, no. Best not to go there if there are feelings involved. Gwaine’s not looking for a boyfriend, and Percy’s such a steady, conventional guy – he’d take the whole thing too seriously and end up getting hurt.

Still, the little glances Percy’s sending his way are making him feel curiously guilty. Perhaps he should go over there, just to clear the air…

But then Arthur comes in and all other thoughts leave his head.

Arthur looks _so_ good. He’s dressed in a pale blue shirt and some black jeans and when he sees Gwaine his face splits in a big grin.

Gwaine hugs him, half-jokingly, but Arthur hugs back and Gwaine can smell his coconut shampoo and his spicy aftershave, and God he’s practically hard just from this.

He gets Arthur a beer and pulls him over to the couch and they pretty much stay there for the next hour. They chat about innocuous things, but Gwaine can’t help but notice every casual touch, the way the space between them gets smaller and smaller. He knows this dance and he feels the usual thrill to think where they might be ending up tonight if he plays his cards right.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He checks his hair in the mirror, rubs a little toothpaste round his mouth. He’s ready to go back downstairs and make his move.

But when he comes out of the bathroom Arthur’s standing there.

“Thought we could go somewhere quieter,” he says, gesturing to Elyan’s bedroom. “Can’t hear myself think down there.”

Gwaine follows him into the bedroom, his heart thumping deliciously. He didn’t even have to persuade Arthur; this is working out so much better than he could have imagined.

They sit down on the bed, spend a bit of time mocking Elyan’s DVD collection. Arthur’s brought a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels upstairs with him and they swig from it periodically, even though Gwaine is well and truly hammered by now. He keeps thinking he needs to stop drinking, or he’ll risk passing out before the good stuff even starts.

He turns to refuse the next sip, and finds Arthur’s lips on his instead.

It’s pretty spectacular. Arthur’s quite a forceful kisser; Gwaine suspected he might be. He’s a bit too eager with the tongue but Gwaine doesn’t care because he’s kissing Arthur and he’s finally getting to run his fingers through his hair, and it’s just as soft and silky as it looks…

He feels a pressure on his shoulders and he lets Arthur push him down onto the bed, giddy with how perfectly things are proceeding. Arthur moves to lie on top of him, and Gwaine moans into his mouth as Arthur’s hips settle above his.

Arthur’s grinding down on Gwaine and again it’s forceful, more forceful than Gwaine’s had before. But he thinks he likes it, because it shows Arthur’s as into it as he is. It’s passionate and a bit possessive. Gwaine bucks up to meet it, shows that he’s ready for more. He starts to bring his hands up to run them through Arthur’s hair again.

Arthur pins them to the bed.

Now this is a bit of a problem. Gwaine likes his hands to be free during sex, likes to fondle and grope and caress at his leisure. But it’s not a big deal; if Arthur likes it this way, he’ll put up with it for a bit. He lets him take the lead, lets him carry on thrusting downwards and attacking Gwaine’s mouth with his tongue.

Attacking is the right word for it, actually. It’s beginning to make his mouth ache a bit.

He wonders if it’s rude to tell a sexual partner that you’re not that into something they’re doing. It doesn’t happen to him very often, although he did have to dissuade that very enthusiastic girl from St Helen’s away from biting on his nipples quite so hard. How did he do that? He thinks maybe he just distracted her by switching their positions.

He tries that now, attempting to get out from under Arthur and go on top. But Arthur keeps him in place, one hand pinning both his arms above his head. Gwaine’s a bit too drunk to coordinate his limbs for a second try.

He’s getting slightly annoyed now, to be honest. Arthur’s not even really kissing him anymore, he’s just sort of humping up against him, and his hipbones are actually jolting quite hard against Gwaine’s.

He opens his mouth to complain and Arthur covers it with his own. The kiss is slightly better this time, but it’s only a few seconds later that Arthur’s tugging at Gwaine’s zipper, and he’s annoyed all over again. If Arthur thinks they’re going straight to fucking, he’s got another think coming. Gwaine expects a little more than that to get him in the mood.

Arthur’s managed to work Gwaine’s jeans and boxers down and off the bed so that his cock springs free, which looks pretty hard even though Gwaine himself is feeling increasingly turned off. But maybe Arthur has plans of blowing him. That would go some way to bringing the vibe back around…

But Arthur doesn’t so much as lay a hand on his cock. He pulls down his own jeans instead.

Even in the midst of his irritation, Gwaine can take time to appreciate Arthur’s cock. It’s pleasingly clean looking, well-groomed and slightly curved; very nice all round. Maybe this encounter could still be saved.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Gwaine says, attempting to inject a bit of life into proceedings; it might help him if Arthur spoke a bit more.

But Arthur only grunts and reaches out for something on the side table. It’s a bottle of hand lotion.

Hell, no. Talk about presumptuous. Is this how Arthur thought sex went? Three minutes of dry humping and then you just stick it in? Not on Gwaine’s watch.

“We haven’t even decided who’s topping yet,” he says, tone jokier than he feels right now.

“I am,” Arthur says, like it’s self-evident, and that really is the final straw as far as Gwaine’s concerned.

“Look, I’m sorry Arthur, I’m just not feeling it,” he says, trying to conceal his disappointment. He should have gone with Percy tonight after all. This was just a huge let down.

Arthur doesn’t respond to his comment, weirdly. He just keeps fiddling with the bottle until he manages to get it open.

“I’m not feeling it,” Gwaine says again, because he is quite drunk and he’s aware his words are coming out a bit funny. He really shouldn’t have had those last swigs of Jack, it’s done for him. 

Arthur seems to hear it that time and he grins a bit.

“You will be in a minute.”

He kisses Gwaine again and this time Gwaine finds it a tiny bit gross.

“Nah, seriously mate, let’s just leave it,” he says quickly.

Arthur looks wounded for a second and then his face clears.

“Look, I may never have done this before, but it’s gonna be good, I promise. Just trust me.”

Gwaine feels a bit bad.

“It’s not you, honestly, I’m just too drunk tonight. Another time, yeah?” he says gently.

“Trust me,” Arthur says determinedly, and he kisses Gwaine again.

Gwaine allows it for another minute; he doesn’t want to shatter Arthur’s self-esteem or anything. But then he feels Arthur’s finger brushing the rim of his hole and he knows that’s enough now, and starts to sit up.

Only, he can’t. Arthur’s holding him down. 

He’s got one hand on Gwaine’s left arm and the rest of his body is pinning Gwaine to the mattress. He tries to rise again but Arthur’s grip is too strong. He wants to say something, but Arthur won’t break free of his lips long enough to let him speak.

Arthur’s quite a lot stronger than him. Gwaine hadn’t expected that. He had a vague idea they might be equally matched, but now that it’s come down to it, it’s not true. He can’t actually move unless Arthur lets him up.

And Arthur doesn’t seem to want to do that.

He thinks Arthur must be too drunk to understand what Gwaine’s trying to signal. But he jerks back when he feels Arthur’s fingers at his entrance again, and surely Arthur can feel that.

If Arthur can, then he hasn’t grasped Gwaine’s meaning. He pushes his finger inside.

Gwaine’s whole body tenses up. He wasn’t expecting it and it doesn’t feel nice, not at all. Arthur’s slicked up with lotion, but his finger still feels weird and uncomfortable inside Gwaine. Like when someone tickles you for too long and it stops being fun and starts to hurt.

His mouth’s finally free and he says, a slight slur in his voice:

“I’m too drunk, Arthur, seriously.”

Arthur just kisses and sucks at his neck, like he’s said something inconsequential.

It did sound inconsequential. Gwaine tries something more forceful.

“I’m not into it; give it a rest, yeah?”

Arthur pushes another finger inside him.

Again, it doesn’t hurt exactly. But Gwaine doesn’t like it.

“Hey, Arthur, stop now,” he says, and he’s surprised to hear a note of panic in his voice. He’s not panicked, why would he be? Arthur’s being a pain but he’ll stop in a minute, once he’s figured out that Gwaine’s not exactly having the time of his life.

He pushes up against Arthur’s grip again, but the weight of his whole body seems to be pressing him down. A weight which suddenly feels a bit close and suffocating. It might just be the heat of the room but Gwaine can’t really breathe properly.

His head’s getting all fuzzy, like the alcohol is just hitting him now. Everything feels a bit off kilter, as though the world as he knew it has shifted somehow.

“You’re so fit,” Arthur murmurs, sitting up to straddle Gwaine’s middle. “I’m gonna fuck you till you scream my name.”

Hearing that makes Gwaine’s stomach twist slightly. Even with some of Arthur’s weight off him, Gwaine can’t move.

“Can we just slow down a bit?” he says, embarrassed at how much it comes out like begging. He thinks he must be communicating all wrong because it’s like Arthur isn’t hearing him.

Arthur’s squeezing more lotion out onto his hand. Gwaine watches as he slicks up his cock and he can’t hide from the panic this time.

“Arthur—”

“Shhh,” Arthur says, lowering himself back down, and Gwaine’s choked by a moment of pure fear when he feels Arthur’s cock nudging against his entrance.

Gwaine makes one final, useless attempt to get free.

“I’m not feeling it,” he says and it comes out as a whisper.

Arthur pushes in.

Gwaine doesn’t say anymore after that. He stops trying to sit up. He stops trying to push back against Arthur’s hands. He just goes limp and waits for it to end.

Arthur doesn’t last long. He groans the whole time, thrusts erratic. He says some more stuff about how hot Gwaine is, how good he feels, but Gwaine tunes it out. He lets his body be moved back and forth and Arthur doesn’t seem to notice that his cock is only half-hard at best the whole time.

Arthur catches on after he comes. After he’s groaned one last time and collapsed on top of Gwaine, after Gwaine can feel the slightest trickle of cum run down his leg and think to himself, in a very vague and detached way, _no condom._

“Let me take care of that,” Arthur says with a grin, and he starts to jerk Gwaine off. Gwaine climaxes, mechanically, a minute later and feels a faint sense of relief. They both came. It was fine. They had sex and they both came. That was normal. It was all normal.

“That was fucking amazing,” Arthur says with a sigh, lying back. 

Gwaine nods.

“Listen, I promised I’d drop Merlin home, so I gotta run. But I’ll see you Monday, yeah?”

Gwaine nods again.

Arthur presses a quick kiss to his lips.

“Gorgeous,” he says, with one last grin. And then he leaves.

Gwaine lies there for a while, he doesn’t know how long. Then he sits up, at last, and feels the rest of the cum and lotion ooze out of him. 

There’s no blood.

Why would there be any blood?

There was no force.

Nothing tore, he knows that.

Somehow he had just expected to see… 

Blood.

He gets up, wipes himself off with his discarded boxers. Shoves them into his pocket as he pulls his jeans on.

Downstairs the party has all but ended. A couple of people are passed out on sofas. No one looks at him as he slips out.

It’s a short walk home. It’s not cold. The sky is very clear and all of the stars are out.

The roads are empty.

Gwaine can hear a funny screeching noise as he gets closer to his street, a bit like a girl crying out. But then he remembers foxes, and the noises they make when they have sex. They’re not really in pain. It’s only the human ear that reads it as distress.

But it follows him all the way home and he can still hear it echoing in his head when he finally lies down to sleep.

 

**October**

 

Gwaine types the word rape into Google. Then he deletes it and shuts his laptop, horrified. Not that, not him. Rape was something that happened in parks at night, in dark alleys and country roads at the hands of strangers; their fists, their knives. Rape was when you said no, rape was when you kicked and screamed, rape was when you never wanted it.

He had wanted it.

He didn’t kick or scream.

He never said the word no.

 

**November**

 

Gwaine quits the football team.

He stops going round to Merlin’s house after school, stops eating lunch with Elyan. He starts spending his breaks in the library, staring blankly at the same page and trying not to think about anything.

He’s good at avoiding Arthur. Gets to the point where he can sense him coming, where he can guess the places he’s going to be. It’s a big school and there are lots of students.

Arthur doesn’t seem to notice. He still smiles at Gwaine, still addresses comments to him if they’re in a big group together. Never spots that Gwaine hasn’t looked him in the eye in three months.

Percy comes into the library sometimes. Gwaine doesn’t know if that’s something he’s always done, or if he’s following Gwaine.

Either way, he pretends Percy isn’t there.

 

**December**

 

“Dare you to wear them to school,” Alvarr says, to loud guffaws.

Gwaine wheels round, in desperate need of a laugh.

“What’s the joke, fellas?” he says, hoping his jollity sounds forced only to him.

“Val and Cenred were showing us these t-shirts they bought.”

Alvarr shoves a phone into his eye line, two shirts on the screen. One says, “Don’t call it rape, call it surprise sex!” The other says, “It’s not rape if she’s dead.”

The world spins for a second.

Val and Cenred are laughing so wide, their mouths stretched open, garish, cartoonish.

Merlin’s not laughing and Elyan’s frowning slightly, but neither of them are saying anything. And Gwaine realises with a heart sickening lurch that three months ago he wouldn’t have said anything either.

Three months ago he might have laughed.

 

**January**

 

Gwaine can’t stop throwing up. His auntie thinks it’s the Christmas food she bought cheap from the wholesale store; she throws it all out. She lets Gwaine miss the first three days of school, promises to take him to the doctor if it continues.

Gwaine doesn’t want to go to the doctor. He knows what it is, and he knows it can’t be fixed as easily as throwing out leftover stuffing.

He also knows that men can get abortions up until their fourth month of pregnancy. It’s not possible after that.

Four months is three weeks away. Gwaine notes the date on his calendar.

He does nothing.

The day passes.

 

**February**

 

It’s Merlin’s birthday and Gwaine couldn’t think of an excuse in time. Merlin looks so sad when he asks. He knows he’s being shut out, but he doesn’t know why, and Gwaine can’t tell him.

Merlin and Arthur are best friends. They sit together in almost every class. Gwaine suspects some days that Merlin’s half in love with Arthur.

It makes him wonder if he should warn Merlin, somehow. But what would he say? And what would happen next?

The thought clenches his stomach and so he avoids Merlin and then Merlin finds him in the library and tearfully asks him to his party and Gwaine can’t say no.

He spitefully vows to drink a lot, and sod the little bump that’s waiting inside him to ruin his life. He’s showing now, just a little, but it’s easy to cover it up with loose plaid shirts and hoodies. Even his auntie hasn’t noticed a thing.

When he gets to the party he finds he can’t touch a drop. He’s so annoyed by this that he spends the night sulking in the corner, resisting all of Merlin and Elyan’s best attempts to cheer him up.

Merlin’s beginning to look quite worried, and Gwaine hates himself for ruining his birthday, for ruining everything for everyone. And then Merlin’s face lights up.

“Arthur’s here!” he says excitedly.

Gwaine’s insides turn to ice, he can’t look round but he can _sense_ him approaching, the same hyperawareness that’s allowed him to avoid Arthur all these months. But there’s nowhere to go now and he stands, frozen and helpless, as Arthur comes up behind him.

“Alright, lads? Having a good time?” Arthur says, clapping his hand down on Gwaine’s shoulder. Merlin says something back but Gwaine can’t hear it; his entire world has narrowed down to the feel of Arthur’s hand on his body. As if compelled by some external force, he turns his head to look Arthur in the eye for the first time in nearly five months, watching as Arthur’s mouth crinkles up into a friendly smile.

And instantly he knows, knows with such certainty that it hits him like a jackhammer, that Arthur has no idea what he’s done. That all this time he’s been thinking of Arthur as an out and out villain, who committed his evil and went smirkingly away into the night. But Arthur has no idea.

Oh, he knows what he did. Knows that he held Gwaine down, knows that he didn’t listen to a word he said, knows that he carried on even when Gwaine was stiff and still beneath him. But he doesn’t think that’s rape. How could he and still smile at Gwaine like that?

He thinks it’s normal. He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it. 

The revelation stuns Gwaine so much that he doesn’t recognise the familiar signs of creeping nausea until it’s almost too late. He bolts just in time, but he’s barely made it out onto the street before he has to throw up, gut wrenching heaves that bring up what little food he’s managed to keep down recently.

 _You should be eating for two,_ a voice singsongs in his head, and he drops to his knees, furious and exhausted in equal measure. That’s all he’s been lately. 

That, and scared.

So scared he can’t face up to any of it. So scared his only defence is blanking it out, pretending it’s not happening. Not going to a doctor, not telling his auntie, not reaching out to Merlin or Elyan. 

But the little bump carries on growing regardless. It has no idea and Gwaine envies it that. He’d like to be somewhere dark and safe right now. He’d like to be carried by someone else.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand on his back. 

“Don’t fucking touch me—” he gets out before Percy’s face comes into view. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Are you alright?”

“Stellar,” Gwaine says, getting to his feet. “Off home now. See you Monday.”

“Wait, can I… can I give you a lift?”

Gwaine starts to shake his head but he reconsiders. The walk home is long and he honestly doesn’t think he can make it.

He nods and lets Percy lead him to the car. It’s only once he’s gotten inside that he remembers what Merlin said all those months ago, about Percy having a crush on him.

He tenses in his seat. Percy’s huge, much bigger than Arthur. He doesn’t stand a chance against him.

He waits, rigid, for Percy to lean over, to drive him somewhere deserted, to pull over and grab him and…

But Percy drives him straight home.

“Thanks a lot,” Gwaine gabbles, jumping out of the car the moment it’s stationary. 

“I should see you in,” Percy says, sounding concerned.

“No, no,” Gwaine says, backing down the path, but that’s when his stupid body betrays him and he vomits again.

Percy’s supporting him before he can do anything, taking the keys from Gwaine’s unresisting hand and fitting them into the lock. Gwaine’s almost blind with panic, his auntie’s not home, there’s no-one to hear him if he screams…

He thinks of the poker next to the fire in the living room. If he can get to it and grab it, at least he’ll have a weapon.

He stumbles towards it the minute the door opens, and he can feel Percy just behind him. The poker’s heavier than he thinks, and he’s weak, but he hefts it in his hand and says, for the second time that night:

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Percy backs away instantly, his hands raised.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey, now.”

“I’ll hit you,” Gwaine says. “I’ll hurt you, I mean it.”

“Why would you hurt me?”

Percy’s voice is gentle, and Gwaine can’t bear to be talked to like he’s a wild animal in need of calming.

“I know what you want!” he half-screams. “I know you want to fuck me, but you can’t! I’m saying no. I get to say no. I’m allowed to say no!”

“Okay,” Percy says. “Okay. I hear you. You’re saying no. I hear you.”

He’s moved all the way over to the door, his hands still raised in the air. They stare at each other for a long moment, and then suddenly Percy folds himself up, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. He puts his palms flat on the ground and then looks back up.

Gwaine lowers the poker.

“I just don’t want you to touch me,” he mumbles, more tired than he can ever remember being.

“Alright. I won’t touch you.”

Percy’s voice is very even. Something about the way he’s sitting, the way he’s made himself so small and unthreatening, is bringing tears to Gwaine’s eyes.

“Why did you take me home?” he can’t help asking.

“Been worried about you,” Percy says simply.

“Why?” Gwaine says, and he doesn’t care how pathetic he sounds.

“Because I care about you,” Percy says, with that same disarming simplicity.

He looks so unassuming, so steady and calm sat there on the floor, that the words float up unbidden in Gwaine’s throat.

“I’m pregnant.”

It sounds funny outside his own head. Like the punchline to a joke.

There’s a short silence.

“Okay,” Percy says.

“Not really, no.”

“No,” Percy agrees quietly. “I just meant… okay. As in thank you for telling me. As in I’m here to help, whatever you need.”

“I need a time machine. Or a DeLorean. Do you have a DeLorean?” Gwaine says, letting the poker slip from his hand and drop to the floor.

“No, but I have a regular car. If you need me to drive you anywhere. To the doctors. Or… or to a clinic?”

“Too late for that,” Gwaine says, scrubbing at his eyes. “Missed my chance.”

Percy regards him.

“There are a few options,” he says at last.

“I know. But I can’t… I can’t think about them right now.”

Words like adoption don’t seem real to Gwaine. That would require the bump to be an actual part of the world, and that’s beyond Gwaine’s comprehension.

Percy nods.

“Is there… Did you… Does the…”

Gwaine sees what he’s fumbling for and gets angry all over again.

“No, the other father doesn’t know. I’m not telling him,” he snaps. 

“Fair enough.” Percy says. “Is it—”

“Yes, it’s Arthur’s, is that what you wanted to fucking know?” Gwaine bites out, wanting to get in first.

Percy looks shocked.

“I wasn’t going to ask that. I was going to ask… it’s Arthur’s?”

“I suppose you think I can’t know for sure?” Gwaine says heatedly. “Because I fuck so many men?”

Percy half starts to rise, then remembers himself and sits back down.

“No,” he says, sounding appalled. “I was just… If it’s Arthur’s, I don’t know why you haven’t… I mean. I thought you really liked him. I thought you’d want to tell him.”

Suddenly Gwaine’s sick of this.

“Can you leave now please?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation and then Percy nods. He gets to his feet, doesn’t make a move towards Gwaine.

“Can we talk about this again?” he says hesitantly.

Gwaine shrugs.

“Okay. Well, you’ve… you’ve got my number.”

Then Percy goes. 

While there’s a small part of Gwaine that wanted him to stay, there’s a much larger part that’s relieved he’s finally being listened to, that someone’s actually respecting the boundaries that he sets down.

And then he feels pathetic, because he never used to worry about things like that. He always expected that people would listen to him. He never had a reason not to.

He hangs the poker back on the hearth and goes to bed. That night he dreams about Elyan’s party, only this time when Arthur kisses him, Gwaine disintegrates, falls away piece by piece until there’s nothing left. 

 

**March**

 

He starts sitting with Percy in the library. They don’t speak much but they read together. Sometimes Percy gives him a lift home. Sometimes he comes in and cooks Gwaine dinner too.

Gwaine’s auntie works away in the week, only comes home at weekends. She doesn’t mind Gwaine having people to stay over. So somehow Percy starts spending a couple of nights a week at his house.

They share a bed. It’s one of those funny things that happened without much conversation around it (not that Percy’s that big on conversation anyway). Gwaine was scared one night and he stood it for as long as he could and then he cracked and asked Percy to get in bed with him. Then he picked up a letter opener and said if Percy tried to touch him in the night, he’d stab him in the throat. And then he cried and apologised.

Percy said okay. _I’ll sleep in your bed. I won’t touch you. It’s all okay._

Gwaine knows that Percy probably has his suspicions from the way he acts, but he never says anything. Waits for Gwaine to say it in his own time.

If he had asked, Gwaine would have clammed up. As it is, he wakes up one night at four am, rolls over and says:

“I didn’t like the sex with Arthur.”

That’s as close as he can get to saying it. Percy’s eyes blink open, slowly. He looks faintly owlish in the dim moonlight and Gwaine is seized by a strange sense of affection for him.

“Didn’t like it how?” he says softly.

Gwaine considers.

“He didn’t listen to me,” he says, because that’s true and it also can’t be used in evidence against him.

Then he shuts his eyes and pretends to go to sleep. He can hear a tiny sigh from Percy, but he doesn’t say anything more, and Gwaine loves him a little for that.

It takes him two more weeks to say the word rape. Percy doesn’t say tell your aunt. Percy doesn’t say go to the police. Percy doesn’t say he’s going to kill Arthur next time he sees him.

Gwaine loves him a little bit more for that.

 

**April**

 

“Do you think I should go to the police?” Gwaine says one day at breakfast.

“I think you should do what’s right for you,” Percy says, hand steady as he pours the tea.

“They won’t convict him,” Gwaine says. “I’ve got no proof. I’ve got nothing.”

Percy adds just the right amount of milk, passes the cup over.

“Will it be my fault?” Gwaine says, his whole body shaking. “If I don’t tell and he does it again. Will it be my fault?”

“No,” Percy says. “It’ll be his fault.”

Something about the way Percy states things, so solid and unfussy, makes Gwaine feel safer, if only for a second.

“I’m showing a lot now,” he says.

“I know,” Percy says. “I’ve told people you’re just getting fat.”

Inappropriately, wonderfully, they both start to laugh.

 

**May**

 

Bolton’s a small town. Cenred’s mum is a receptionist at the men’s clinic. She puts two and two together when Gwaine finally summons the courage to come in for a check-up.

He knows what’s happened the second he walks into school the next day. Everyone’s staring, openly, unabashedly. Whispering, pointing, snickering. It’s exactly like a nightmare and Gwaine feels stuck in the same way as he is in bad dreams, unable to get away.

He gets unstuck eventually. Turns on his heel and walks out. Goes home and rings his auntie in London, says he needs her.

She’s home within three hours. He tells her everything.

They go to the police that afternoon. The officer is kind and gentle and it’s nothing like Gwaine feared it would be. But he still cries all the way home, his auntie patting his leg from the front seat. When they get back she makes him cocoa and gives him Kimberley biscuits, like she did when he was little.

“I’m like my ma,” he says, huddled up on the sofa in a blanket. “Wasn’t she eighteen when she had me?”

“Sixteen,” his auntie says, smiling fondly. “And she didn’t let any fecker shame her about it, and neither will you.”

Gwaine laughs, but he’s terrified the next day. Percy rings to say he’ll walk Gwaine in, but he refuses, he has to do this by himself.

But when he gets to school the mood has changed. They were curious yesterday. But now they look hostile.

“Is it true you said Arthur Pendragon raped you?” one gobby Year 9 shouts. “My brother says the police were round his house last night.”

“You didn’t, did you Gwaine?” Val says, pushing his way forward, the rest of the football team not far behind him. “I said you never would.”

Gwaine’s mouth is dry.

“I…”

But he can’t deny it.

Val’s face changes so fast it’s frightening.

“You fucking slag,” he says, cold and deliberate. “How could anyone rape you? You’ll fuck anything that moves.”

It’s like being sucker punched, or being submerged in ice cold water. Gwaine literally staggers to the side a bit, afraid he might fall.

Suddenly Percy and Elyan are coming forward, herding Gwaine away from the crowd, shielding him from prying eyes. They take him to the biology lab stairs and he sits, winded.

“Val’s a cunt,” Percy says at last, and Gwaine dimly registers that that’s the first time he’s ever heard Percy swear.

“I’m so sorry, Gwaine,” Elyan says. “I’m so so sorry.”

Gwaine doesn’t want pity. But the hate is scarier, and he clings on to any raft in a storm.

“Did they really arrest Arthur?” he says weakly.

“I think they brought him in for questioning,” Elyan says carefully. “But they didn’t hold him.”

They won’t charge him. Gwaine knows that. He always knew that.

He thinks he’s glad he did it anyway. It’s on file now. At least they know.

“Where’s Merlin?” he says to distract himself.

“Ill,” Elyan says. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Gwaine doesn’t know if he’ll be back tomorrow himself. But he has to try, doesn’t he? Has to hold his head up high like his ma did before him.

He lasts three days in the end. Three days with people hissing at him in the corridor, three days with people carving words into his locker like SLUT and LIAR, three days with Val and the football team “accidentally” shoving him into the lockers.

It’s the last one that does it for him. He doesn’t care about himself, not anymore, but what about the little bump? It doesn’t deserve to be snuffed out because someone pushes him too hard one day and he takes a fall.

His auntie supports him when he tells her.

“You can take your A-Levels next year,” she says, with a level of optimism that shocks him. He can’t imagine next year, it seems too far away. As unreal as the bump still is to him.

 

Merlin’s ill all those three days and no one’s heard anything from him. Gwaine tries not to be worried. What if Arthur had already done something to Merlin? What if he was angry about Gwaine and he lashed out? What if Merlin was away because he’d been through the exact same thing and he couldn’t face being exposed like Gwaine had been?

Gwaine should have warned him. He’d thought about it that night at his birthday, and then he’d forgotten about it in his own selfish misery. He should have done more. He leaves voicemails and messages, sends emails and texts. When he finally comes down the stairs from a nap on Friday night and hears Merlin in the living room, the first thing he feels is relief.

Then he realises Percy’s voice is rising, and that’s all wrong, Percy never shouts. Gwaine pads over to the door, and presses his ear up against it.

“…even know what happened.”

“We do know what happened, though,” Percy says loudly. “Gwaine told us what happened.”

“And Arthur says something different!” Merlin sounds desperate. “Who am I supposed to believe?”

“You’re supposed to believe the one who was assaulted,” Percy says, cold as ice. “Not the rapist trying to cover his tracks.”

A pause.

“Don’t flinch when I use that word. You need to face up to what Arthur is and what he’s done.”

“But we don’t know what he’s done,” Merlin pleads.

“Are you gonna support Gwaine or not?”

“I… Look, I’m staying out of it. I’m not taking sides.”

“See, when you say that, you are taking a side. And the side you’re taking is not Gwaine’s.”

“That’s not fair—”

“When something like this happens and you stay silent, you’re letting people like Arthur get away with it.”

“We don’t even know if he did it!”

“I do,” Percy says, voice chipped and precise. “Because Gwaine told me he did and I believe him.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me there was no chance – no chance at all – that Gwaine was too drunk to remember what happened that night? That he came to the wrong conclusion?”

“He knows what happened.”

“Percy, they’d been flirting for weeks before that night! Gwaine was telling everyone he knew that he wanted Arthur. I saw them when they went upstairs that night. Gwaine looked perfectly happy to me.”

“So you’re saying he couldn’t change his mind later?”

“No, I’m saying that he wouldn’t! I’m saying that the word no is not in Gwaine’s vocabulary when it comes to sex! I’m saying Arthur had no reason to rape Gwaine when Gwaine had already offered himself on a plate!”

There’s a long, shocked silence.

Gwaine feels curiously numb. As though so many terrible things have happened to him that this is just one more to add to the list. That he should have seen it coming. That everyone was always going to blame him.

Once a slag, always a slag. If you consent enough times, then maybe your consent just gets taken as read. Maybe you’re not allowed to stop giving it away once you’ve started. Maybe that’s how it is.

He pushes the door open and Merlin and Percy both turn horrified eyes on him.

Merlin’s hand flies to his mouth.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says immediately. “Gwaine, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

“You said it though,” Gwaine says, and his voice comes out dull, monotone. “You can’t take it back.”

“Gwaine, please,” Merlin says and his eyes are already shiny with tears. “I really didn’t mean it. I just… I don’t know what’s happening here. You said… and then Arthur… and you’re both my friends and I don’t know what to do…”

Gwaine says nothing. Percy walks over to stand behind him; he can feel the heat of him at his back.

“I think you should go,” Percy says.

Merlin seeks out Gwaine’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says frantically. “I’m sorry.”

Gwaine leaves the room.

 

He goes to bed and stays there for a week. His auntie and Percy bring him food, sit by his side and talk quietly. They don’t push him. They let him lie there and run his hands over his stomach and think.

At the end of the week he gets up again. 

Percy smiles. His auntie nods approvingly.

“Your mother’s son, through and through.”

 

**June**

 

Percy takes Gwaine to his next ultrasound. 

He’d said no automatically the last time the technician asked if he wanted to know the sex of the baby. But this time he says yes. It’s time for it to stop being the little bump. It needs to be real now.

The technician smiles at the two of them as she moves the probe across Gwaine’s stomach. She clearly thinks they’re a couple.

“Congratulations,” she says merrily. “It’s a little boy!”

Percy smiles, seemingly enraptured by the image on the screen.

Gwaine doesn’t say anything.

He’s silent most of that evening and Percy doesn’t make him talk. It’s only when they’re cocooned in bed that night that he feels able to say it.

“I didn’t want a boy.”

Percy rouses instantly, turning towards him.

“I didn’t know you minded.”

Gwaine looks over at the window, at the dim shards of moonlight creeping in.

“He might grow up to be a rapist,” he says at last and Percy stiffens beside him.

“Why would you—”

“Maybe it’s genetic,” Gwaine says, watching the curtains flutter slightly. “Rapist dad. Rapist son. Maybe it’s… maybe I… maybe…”

He starts to cry.

Once he’s started he can’t really stop, and Percy sits up in bed, hands twitching.

“Can I… Gwaine, just this once… can I touch you?”

Gwaine nods, lets go. Falls into Percy.

Percy’s arms are warm and solid, and he doesn’t hold on too tight. Gwaine doesn’t feel trapped by his touch, doesn’t feel panicked. 

He feels cherished and protected and loved.

“I believe in nurture, not nature,” Percy murmurs into his hair. “I believe if you decide to keep him, you’ll raise him right. You’ll love him. That’s what matters.”

Gwaine doesn’t know if he agrees but he also knows it’s one step at a time. He leans in to Percy’s embrace.

 

Three days later he goes to the shops and stops to admire a beautiful red motorbike parked by the chippie. And, out of nowhere, the baby kicks.

He tells Percy about it at dinner that night.

“While you were looking at a motorbike?” Percy says. “He takes after his dad then.”

He gives Gwaine a little hopeful smile.

“Yeah,” Gwaine says, feeling a smile of his own cross his face. “He takes after me.”

 

**July**

 

A week before he’s due, his auntie sits him down. Well, actually he’s already sitting, he doesn’t have much choice at the moment.

“My ankles feel like sandbags,” he grumbles, and his auntie smiles. 

“Ah, the miracle of life.”

Then she looks serious.

“Gwaine, I’ve been speaking to Terry and Jan over in Galway these past couple of weeks. I know you haven’t decided anything yet, but if you… if you decide not to keep him, they would be happy to adopt. That way you could come and visit whenever you wanted, and you’d always be in his life.”

Gwaine’s blindsided. He’s been thinking of adoption in terms of some random couple he’s never met, a couple he’ll have no way of knowing whether they’re good people or not. But Terry and Jan are definitely good people. He’s always thought of them as family. They’ve raised two kids of their own but they’re only in their early fifties, they wouldn’t be too old…

It’s the perfect solution and yet Gwaine doesn’t want it. He’s been scared this whole time and in denial and angry but… the little bump’s been there through it all. Something to keep him going, even when he was denying its existence. His little light.

His little boy. 

“I want to keep him,” he says determinedly, and his stomach twinges in agreement.

Then it twinges again and again and again.

“Oh,” he gasps. “I think it’s happening.”

His auntie jumps up from the couch.

“Right. I’ll get your bag and the keys, you call yer man.”

“My man?” he chokes out, and she winks at him.

“I’ve got eyes in my head, don’t I? Call your Percy! You’ll need to hold his hand, believe me!”

And she’s right.

 

**August**

 

Gwaine names him Brendan. After his mother Brenda. He could have used his da’s name but he doesn’t want to remember the scumbag who walked out on his mother the minute the cancer started to take its toll. He wants to remember his ma instead, how she had him young and got herself a job and made herself a home, and didn’t care what anyone thought of her. He wants to be like her.

With one key difference. He doesn’t think Percy’ll be a scumbag that walks out on him. He thinks he might be one to stick around.

And so it’s in the hospital bed – sat up against the cushions, his tiny new son on his lap, exhausted but proud in a way he never thought he could be – that Gwaine finally says it.

Not “Marry me,” or “I love you,” or even “I need you.” Just,

“I really like you,” he says, bone-tired and happy. “Do you want to stay with me? Do you want to stay with us?”

“Yes,” Percy says simply. “I want to stay with you. Both of you.”

He leans into the bed, reaches out for Gwaine’s hand.

“Can I touch you?” he says.

“You don’t have to ask,” Gwaine says, and then thinks again. “Oh but… I don’t know about… about sex. I don’t know if I can…”

“That’s fine,” Percy says, and Gwaine sees that it is. “I think I’ll keep asking, if that’s okay with you. So I can always be sure.”

And he does. Asks when he can take Gwaine’s hand in the street, asks when he can put his feet in Gwaine’s lap on the sofa, asks when he can spoon Gwaine in bed at night. There’s something special about the asking, something magical and intimate that never gets old.

And when he watches Percy feed Brendan, or sing him to sleep, or swoop him through the air, that’s a kind of magic too. And Gwaine feels lit up from within.

 

**December**

 

They have the Christening five months after Brendan’s born. Elyan’s the godfather, and Terry and Jan come over along with all the Galway lot, and the cousins from Birmingham, and even a couple of the American ones too. And no one says a word in judgement, no one sneers or sniffs or talks behind his back. They say they respect him instead. They say he’s done well for himself. They shake his hand and say they’re proud.

Brendan’s quiet throughout the service and then screams bloody murder when the priest wets his head.

“Good strong lungs,” Gwaine’s auntie says cheerfully. “Everyone back to ours for a whiskey!”

That night Gwaine sits on the sofa with Brendan asleep in his arms, inhaling the warm powdery scent of the top of his head. His son makes tiny snuffling noises in his sleep and Gwaine just watches him, endlessly fascinated by the miracle that is a baby.

He’s content to let Percy get the door when it goes; it’s probably one of the cousins coming back for their keys or something. So he gets a shock when he hears Merlin’s voice.

“I know, I know. I won’t stay, I promise. Just two minutes. Please. It’s important.”

A muffled reply and then the door opens. Percy comes in, looking unhappy.

“Merlin’s here but you don’t have to see him,” he says.

Gwaine looks down at Brendan, who gives a tiny sigh.

“Let him in,” he says. “And give us a minute?”

Percy nods, tight lipped, and then goes back to the front door. A few seconds later, Merlin slips in.

He looks very pale, and thinner than when Gwaine last saw him. He’s wringing his hands and worrying at his lip, not coming any further into the room than the door.

“Thanks for seeing me.”

“Why are you here, Merlin?” Gwaine says, neither warmth nor coolness in his voice.

“I stopped speaking to Arthur, I don’t know if you know,” Merlin says in a rush.

“I don’t keep up with what Arthur does anymore,” Gwaine says, and realises that it’s true. He hasn’t thought directly of Arthur in a while.

“Right. But I… I saw a lawyer and then I went round last night and I… look, here.”

He draws a wad of papers from his shoulder bag and hands them over.

Gwaine doesn’t move to take them.

“It’s… He’s signed away his parental rights.”

Gwaine feels a curious rushing sensation in his chest, like he’s finally released a breath he’s been holding for a long time.

He takes the papers, leafs through them with one hand on Brendan’s head. Then he looks up.

“Thank you,” he says, and means it.

Merlin nods.

“I’m still so sorry, Gwaine.”

Gwaine sighs.

“Did you come here to be forgiven?”

A tear drops down Merlin’s cheek.

“Maybe,” he whispers. “Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t know,” Gwaine says.

Merlin nods, wiping at his eyes.

“Okay. Okay, that’s… that’s fair. I just wanted you to know. I’ll always be sorry.”

He moves to the door and Gwaine looks down at Brendan, this perfect little creature that came out of the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Merlin?” he says, and he lifts his arms up. “Do you want to hold him?”

 

After Merlin’s gone, Percy slips back into the room and hands Gwaine a cup of tea.

“So will you forgive him?”

“Listening at the door, eh?”

“Shamelessly,” Percy says, straight-faced, and Gwaine laughs. 

“I haven’t yet. But I think I will, yeah. One day.”

He reaches out to touch the corner of Percy’s mouth.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore.”

Percy smiles.

“Can I still be angry?” he says and Gwaine laughs again, pressing a kiss to the spot he touched.

“Yeah. But not around Brendan. We’re raising him in love.”

“Yes we are,” Percy says and he reaches out to trace a line down Gwaine’s cheek.

Then they walk back into the living room, hand in hand, to check on their son.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading


End file.
